The reassignment came quietly with no announcement or confrontation. Just an update pushed through the system at 8:03 a.m., timestamped, approved, and distributed before most of the building had finished its first coffee.
Rosenberg learned about it from her access panel. She logged in, entered her credentials, and waited for the familiar layout to populate. Instead, the screen refreshed and returned a reduced interface.
Half the tabs were gone. She tried again, but the same result appeared.
Rosenberg didn't react outwardly. She checked the permissions log, scanning line by line.
Scope Adjustment: Investigative Authority - Modified (Effective Immediately)
She exhaled once, controlled, and stood.
The floor was already busy. Phones rang. Doors opened and closed. The day moved forward with practiced indifference.
Ionescu spotted her from across the bullpen and approached.
"You see it?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"They reassigned the interstate liaisons," Ionescu continued, "They report elsewhere now."
Rosenberg nodded, "Who's left?"
"Us. Forensics on rotation. Local analysts only."
"Containment," Rosenberg said.
Ionescu lowered her voice, "Internal Review is circling."
"I know."
They walked together toward Rosenberg's office. Inside, the desk looked unchanged. Same files.
The illusion of control was always strongest right before it was tested.
Rosenberg sat and opened the internal memo attached to the scope change.
Carefully worded. Respectful. Full of reassurances.
Objective: Preserve investigative clarity.
Rationale: Prevent duplication of effort.
Expectation: Continued cooperation.
"They're trying to slow discovery," Ionescu said.
"They're trying to redirect it," Rosenberg corrected.
She tapped the memo, "This doesn't stop the investigation. It narrows what I'm allowed to touch."
"So you work around it."
Rosenberg looked up, "No, I work within it."
Ionescu frowned, "That's not how you operate."
"It is now," Rosenberg said, "Watch."
She pulled up the case dashboard and filtered by what she still had access to.
Local evidence. Local witnesses. Local timelines.
No interstate data.
No comparative analytics.
Fine.
Patterns didn't disappear when you stopped looking at them. They just changed the scale.
"Bring me the warehouse records," Rosenberg said, "The latest scene."
Ionescu hesitated, "That's outside ou—"
"It's local," Rosenberg said, "The body was found here."
Ionescu nodded and left.
Rosenberg leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Containment wasn't punishment. It was an assessment.
They were watching to see how she'd respond.
An hour later, Ionescu returned with a thin folder.
"Warehouse was leased under a shell company," she said, "Paperwork is way way too clean."
"Too clean how?"
"No debt, no disputes. Taxes paid early."
Rosenberg flipped through the pages, "Who filed?"
"Third-party administrative service."
Rosenberg paused, "Name?"
Ionescu read it, "Grayline Compliance."
Rosenberg felt a shift.
"Run them," she said.
Ionescu's fingers moved quickly, "They handle filings for… a lot of municipal contracts."
"How many?"
"Enough that they don't stand out."
Rosenberg closed the folder.
That was the point. The killer wasn't avoiding oversight. They were hiding inside it.
Her phone rang. Internal line this time.
"Yes," Rosenberg said.
"Detective," a measured voice replied, "Internal Review would like to speak with you."
"When?"
"Now."
Rosenberg stood, "I'll be there."
The Internal Review office was smaller than expected. There is no windows. Neutral walls. Two chairs. One table.
The reviewer introduced himself and sat across from her.
"This is informal," he said, "I just need a conversation."
Rosenberg nodded, "Understood."
"You've been proactive," he continued, "Highly effective. But some concerns have been raised."
"By whom?"
He smiled faintly, "The system doesn't attribute concern. It registers deviation."
Rosenberg folded her hands, "Deviation from what?"
"From expected flow."
She considered that, "Expected by whom?"
He didn't answer directly, "When cases escalate rapidly, oversight ensures balance."
"Balance doesn't stop a killer," Rosenberg said.
"No," he agreed, "But imbalance destabilizes institutions."
There it was. Priority revealed without intent.
"I followed protocol," Rosenberg said.
"You exceeded it."
"I expanded the scope because the evidence required it."
The reviewer nodded slowly, "Evidence can be persuasive, but procedure is protective."
"Of whom?" Rosenberg asked.
The question lingered longer than the silence that followed.
After a moment, he said, "This isn't disciplinary."
"Not yet," Rosenberg replied.
He stood, "We'll continue monitoring. Cooperate fully, and there will be no issue."
As she left, Rosenberg felt it clearly now. She wasn't being investigated. She was being evaluated.
Back at her desk, Ionescu waited.
"They asked about you," Ionescu said, "People are careful how they talk."
"Good," Rosenberg replied, "Care creates mistakes."
She sat and reopened the access logs she'd flagged the night before.
The administrative name again. The one that touched every file still there, still active, still unremarkable.
She cross-referenced it with Grayline Compliance.
Ionescu leaned closer, "That's… not law enforcement."
"No," Rosenberg said, "It's infrastructure."
Her phone buzzed with a new alert.
Another incident. Not a body.
A break-in.
Evidence storage.
Her stomach tightened.
"What?" Ionescu asked.
"They didn't take anything," Rosenberg said, reading, "They moved something."
"What?"
Rosenberg's eyes tracked the report.
One file relocated.
Victim Twenty-Seven.
The one with the rescinded escalation.
She stood abruptly, "Get me security footage."
Ionescu's face paled, "That area's restricted."
"Not anymore," Rosenberg said.
They reached the storage wing minutes later.
The room was intact. Locks undamaged and no forced entry.
The footage played on the monitor.
Time-stamped 2:14 a.m.
A figure entered using valid credentials.
No disguise. No rush.
They walked straight to the shelf.
Pulled the file.
Paused.
Then returned one slot over.
"Why move it?" Ionescu whispered.
Rosenberg stared at the screen.
Because someone wanted her to notice.
She zoomed in on the badge swipe.
The name flashed briefly.
Administrative clearance.
Same as before.
Rosenberg felt the shift again, sharper this time.
This wasn't containment.
This was engagement.
Her phone rang again. Another internal number.
She answered.
"Detective Rosenberg," the voice said calmly, "You're looking in the wrong direction."
Rosenberg's gaze never left the screen.
"No," she replied, "I'm being pointed."
The call ended.
Rosenberg straightened.